The Long Game
by Lys ap Adin
Summary: Imayoshi plays the long game. Imayoshi and Kasamatsu, smut.
1. Imayoshi

**Title:** The Long Game  
**Characters/Pairings:** Imayoshi and Kasamatsu  
**Summary:** Imayoshi plays the long game.  
**Notes:** General audiences; a not-at-all porny fill for Porn Battle. 1309 words.

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**The Long Game**

"What?" Kasamatsu said, his next bite of ramen suspended in mid-air, clearly forgotten. "_What_?" He stared at Shouichi, looking just about as gobsmacked as Shouichi had ever seen him.

Shouichi grinned at him, which only made Kasamatsu glare at him furiously. "It is kind of loud in here, isn't it?" He raised his voice a bit—just enough to make Kasamatsu's eyes widen in horror—and repeated himself. "I said, how about we go find a hotel room after this?" He slurped up some more noodles while Kasamatsu sputtered. "So, how about it?"

It was probably only the fact that they weren't teammates and were sitting across from each other in a public place that kept Kasamatsu from kicking him. As it was, he looked sorely tempted to do so anyway. "I don't even _like_ you."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Shouichi wondered out loud, enjoying the way Kasamatsu was going red. "Hey, you know, if you don't hurry up, your ramen's going to be ruined."

It didn't take a master craftsman to reduce Kasamatsu to wordless noises of outrage, but Shouichi flattered himself with the thought that this was perhaps one of his better efforts. Kasamatsu snarled at him and resumed eating with savage efficiency, slurping up his noodles and chomping on them while he glared across the table at Shouichi. Shouichi followed his most instructive example, continuing to eat placidly while he waited for Kasamatsu to make the next move.

"What are you playing at?" Kasamatsu burst out with the question after only a scant few minutes; Shouichi hadn't thought it would take very long.

"Beg pardon?" he inquired.

Kasamatsu leveled a finger at him, his eyes narrowed. "_Don't_. You know damn well what I mean. What the hell are you up to now?"

"Eating," Shouichi told him, just for the joy of watching Kasamatsu's eyes snap. "I'm thinking about a second round of noodles, how about you?"

Kasamatsu brought his fist down on the table hard enough to make their dishes dance and people turn to look at their table from all around the restaurant. "Be _serious_!"

Shouichi set his chopsticks down and tucked his hands under his chin. "What makes you think that I'm not?"

"I don't know, maybe because I've _met you_?" Kasamatsu retorted.

"Mm, I reckon that's a good point," Shouichi conceded. "Hoist by my own petard, as they say. What a tragic irony."

"I am going to give you thirty seconds to start making sense, and then I'm getting up and leaving." Kasamatsu's voice had gone calm, dangerously so, and his eyes were hard. "That's thirty more seconds than you deserve, so start talking."

Shouichi figured that he meant every word of it. Time to be blunt, then. He shrugged at Kasamatsu. "I like you and find you attractive, and I would like to sleep with you."

According to his internal count, the thirty-second mark came and went while Kasamatsu sat and stared at him, slack-jawed. "You—you—" he said eventually, shaking his head. "You're not serious." But he was not getting up to leave.

Shouichi chose to take that as a positive omen. "No, I'm afraid that I am." He took a philosophical approach to it. What other choice was there?

Kasamatsu stared at him some more, no longer slack-jawed—no, he was frowning now, eyes narrowed beneath his knitted brows. That was his analytical face. Shouichi settled in to enjoy the spectacle of Kasamatsu working his way through an unexpected twist. "So when you started showing up at the street court near my apartment…?"

"Because I wanted to see you," Shouichi said, smiling at him. "It's so hard to find a decent game when you're not in a club anymore."

Kasamatsu squinted at him, but declined to press the point. "And when you started badgering me into betting meals on the outcomes of our games…?"

"Covert dating," Shouichi said promptly, enjoying himself hugely.

Kasamatsu stared at him. "Cover dating," he repeated, his tone utterly flat.

"Of course." Shouichi grinned at him. "How else was I going to get you to see the many facets of my personality off the court?"

"Your personality doesn't _have_ facets. It's got exactly _one_ facet, and that is pure asshole."

"But at least I'm a _charming_ asshole," Shouichi said.

Kasamatsu snorted. "Do you actually believe your own bullshit?"

"If I did that, then I'd really be in trouble." Shouichi pushed his bowl back and folded his hands on the table in front of him, studying Kasamatsu. "But I suppose that if you're not taken by my suit, there's no helping it. A fellow can't win them all." He inclined his head to Kasamatsu. "I'll just be on my way—"

"Oh, stop that." Kasamatsu frowned at him before he could follow through on sliding out from the booth. "You're not fooling anyone. Keep your ass in that seat and let me _think_."

Shouichi laughed, delighted that Kasamatsu had seen through his gambit. "That's why I like you. You're so good at this."

Kasamatsu looked at him, frowning, and tapped his finger against the surface of the table. "Why me?" he demanded, abrupt. "Assuming for the moment that I accept that you're being serious. Why me?" He raised his finger in warning. "And no bullshit. Now is not the time for your games."

He was both right, and not, but no matter. Shouichi considered his answer carefully—even more carefully than he would have done anyway. At last he shrugged. "I can't think of anyone who makes a better match for me, whether we're on the court or off it."

"Huh." Kasamatsu settled back in his seat, still wearing that thoughtful frown, and studied him. "I think you really mean that."

"You _did_ ask for no bullshit," Shouichi apologized.

Kasamatsu snorted at him again; something like the herald of a smile kicked up the corner of his mouth. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"I'd tell you it was my incredible good looks and prowess in bed, but…" Shouichi spread his hands. "Since I haven't had a chance to demonstrate that, it must be something else."

"It must be," Kasamatsu agreed, dry. "Though I can't imagine what it might be." He pursed his lips and then nodded, as if he had come to some decision. "All right."

Shouichi blinked. "Er. _Am_ I going to be establishing my prowess in bed after all?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm not that kind of girl." Kasamatsu shrugged. "There's no such thing as covert dating, and I don't put out on the first date anyway. But I might say yes if you were to man up and ask me out for real."

"Really, now." Shouichi smiled across the table at him. "In that case, would you like to catch a movie and have dinner next weekend?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Kasamatsu pointed a finger at him again. "But don't think this means I like you or anything."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Shouichi assured him, not bothering to conceal his amusement. He leaned forward again. "But tell me more about this policy of yours. How many dates _does_ it take before you turn into that kind of girl?"

Kasamatsu balled his napkin up and bounced it off his forehead. "Don't push your luck," he growled. "That's none of your damn business."

"Yet," Shouichi said, breezy. "But I've been patient for this long. I suppose it won't hurt me to be patient a while longer."

Kasamatsu gave him a suspicious look. "Just how long is 'this long'?"

Shouichi smiled. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

He had no doubt that Kasamatsu would, eventually, but that was all part of the fun of playing the long game, after all, and Kasamatsu was by far the best partner for that he'd ever found.

**end**

Comments are always lovely!


	2. Kasamatsu

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Yukio said when Imayoshi raised the question yet again, this time between the kisses they were stealing from each other in a reasonably secluded corner of the park.

"Are you sure?" Imayoshi asked, wheedling and wistful, which was reassuring—even Imayoshi Shouichi couldn't think with both heads at the same time. Probably. Then he finally processed the fact that this time, Yukio had not refused him. He pulled away from Yukio's mouth to look at him; Yukio didn't think his surprise was entirely feigned. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah, why not?" Maybe he'd be able to get through this without dying of embarrassment, if he just pretended hard enough that he was proposing something ordinary, like a round of one-on-one, instead of going and getting a room so they could have sex—Yukio refused to even _think_ the words 'consummate our pure, burgeoning love' lest he be tempted to punch Imayoshi again. He prodded Imayoshi on the shoulder before the guy could do more than begin to smile, all full of wicked delight. "And if you make me regret saying that, don't think I won't change my mind. Because I will." The key to dealing with Imayoshi was to lay down strict ground rules and then enforce them mercilessly. Even then he had to stay on his toes in case Imayoshi tried to sneak something through a previously unnoticed loophole.

Imayoshi actually went and laid a hand over his heart, all but fluttering his eyelashes at Yukio. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said, extravagant. "This is a wondrous occasion, one to be treasured—_ow_!"

Yukio shook his hand out as Imayoshi clutched his shoulder. "Why am I constantly surrounded by drama queens?" he asked the universe as he pushed past Imayoshi. He looked back at Imayoshi over his shoulder, impatient. "Well, are you going to stand there all night or what?"

"Mm, I think I will choose the 'or what' option," Imayoshi said, abandoning the fuss over his shoulder to fall into perfect step with Yukio. Casually, he added, "It's because you're the perfect straight man, you know." When Yukio glanced at him, Imayoshi grinned. "Your drama queen predicament. You're so dreadfully earnest that a fellow can't help wanting to wind you up and watch you go."

As explanations went, it was obnoxiously plausible. Yukio scowled. "I'm not a toy for your amusement."

"Did I ever say that you were?"

"Who needs words when your actions scream so loudly?" Yukio retorted.

"Touché," Imayoshi sighed. "Oh, the quandaries you put me in."

He didn't sound all that conflicted, though that didn't mean anything, not really. "You could use a few more quandaries, if you ask me," Yukio said as they emerged on the other side of the little park, that much closer to a street that he happened to know was lined with love hotels.

"They do tend to be instructive experiences," Imayoshi agreed. He said no more about it as they made their way up the street and over a few blocks. He was smiling just as cheerfully as ever, Yukio noted, for all the good that did him. So much of Imayoshi was nothing but surface; the substance of him was a far more elusive matter.

When they came to the street of hotels, Imayoshi peered down the length of it and raised his eyebrows. "My goodness, what a selection."

Yukio looked at the signs, some of which advertised amenities whose purpose he didn't even know, and cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said. "You have a destination in mind?"

"I thought I'd be a gentleman and let you pick."

This did not deceive Yukio. "So no, you don't know what you're doing either." He looked up and down the street while Imayoshi protested the aspersions cast on the depth and range of his experience. He pointed at one of the hotels. "That one doesn't look too sleazy."

Imayoshi cut off the stream of bullshit to hum thoughtfully. "No, it doesn't. Shall we grace it with our august presences?"

Yukio rolled his eyes and started down the street without answering. Imayoshi followed after him as he entered their chosen destination, and he didn't even try to cover the full cost of their room—Yukio had put a stop to that nonsense on their very first official date. He accepted the key from the anonymous clerk after putting his half of the fee down, and they made their way up to the room without incident.

Imayoshi found his voice again once they were inside the room. He planted himself in the middle of the floor and revolved in place. "Hmm. This doesn't look like a palace of carnal delights to me. How about you?"

"It looks like a hotel room," Yukio said, not entirely able to look at him. "I think you're supposed to provide the, er, carnal delights yourself."

Imayoshi squinted at him. "Are you _blushing_?" he inquired.

"What?" Yukio said, appalled. "No!"

Imayoshi prowled over to him and laid the backs of his fingers against his cheek. They _did_ feel cooler than his own skin, though Yukio would have died before admitting it. "You sure about that?" he asked, altogether too close.

"I am _not_ blushing," Yukio protested. Or started to protest, before Imayoshi leaned in and kissed him.

That solved the question of _what next_, anyway. Yukio set the matter of whether he was blushing or not aside (he _wasn't_) and stepped into Imayoshi's space, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Imayoshi's hair and dropping his other hand to Imayoshi's hip as he returned the kiss, picking up where they'd left off in the park.

_This_ was why he'd agreed to this, all his irritation with Imayoshi's sense of humor aside—Imayoshi was good with his mouth, even when he wasn't sharpening his wit on any handy object. Yukio leaned into the heat of it and the slickness of Imayoshi's tongue tangling with his, watching Imayoshi from behind slitted eyes. Imayoshi was watching him in return, especially when he planted his hands squarely on Yukio's ass and then _squeezed_ it.

"Mm, very nice," he said while Yukio was still processing the way that felt, hotter and more exciting than he would have expected it to be. "But I figured it would be." He angled his head and nuzzled against Yukio's throat as he continued to flex his fingers against Yukio's ass. "I've seen the way you fill out a pair of jeans, after all."

Sometimes he simply did not know what to do with the things Imayoshi said to him, the things that could have been jokes but for the faintest trace of sincerity in his voice. Yukio usually set them aside to puzzle over (or not) on his own time. In this case, he decided that two could play that game and dropped his own hands to Imayoshi's ass. He found that it made for a solid handful. "You're not so bad yourself," he muttered as Imayoshi's breath swept across his throat.

"Mm, thank you," Imayoshi said, right before _licking_ him.

Yukio made a sound—emphatically _not_ a yelp—and jerked with the unexpectedly hot run of sensation that followed the wet drag of Imayoshi's tongue. Imayoshi pounced on his reaction the way he did any opening and exploited it ruthlessly, stroking his tongue over Yukio's skin until Yukio was panting and straining against the fly of his jeans. "_Fuck_," he said, hoarse, when he realized that he could feel that Imayoshi was in the same predicament.

"Should we see if that bed's any good?" Imayoshi asked, husky against his throat.

"Yeah," Yukio agreed, turned on enough not to be embarrassed by the blunt suggestion.

Neither of them was much of an epitome of grace as they stumbled towards the bed, but it was difficult to care too much about that. Yukio peeled out of his shirt as he went and tossed it aside. He glanced up to find that Imayoshi had beaten him to the bed and was looking at him, openly appreciative. "You have the best ideas sometimes," he observed, sitting up to tug his own shirt off over his head and showing off the sleek muscles of his torso as he did.

Yukio knew it wasn't a good idea to let Imayoshi catch him staring—Imayoshi could run on a piece of material like that for _weeks_—but he couldn't quite make himself stop. Imayoshi looked _good_ like that, half-naked and hard enough to show a distinct bulge in his slacks, with his hair falling into his eyes in a disheveled mess.

Imayoshi discarded his shirt and looked up—and paused that way as he met Yukio's eyes. Well, now he was in for it, Yukio thought, resigning himself to the inevitable. But Imayoshi stayed silent, and his smile was smaller than usual, less mocking somehow. After a moment, he said, "Why don't you come over here and join me?"

That was the point of the exercise, so Yukio slid his knee onto the bed and crawled his way up to where Imayoshi was. Imayoshi raised his eyebrows when Yukio chose to settle astride his hips, kneeling over them, but he wasn't one to waste an opportunity like that. "That's better," he said, quiet, and kissed Yukio again.

That was the simplest way of making sure that Imayoshi wasn't running his mouth off, so Yukio pressed his mouth against Imayoshi's and braced himself against his shoulder as he kissed back. Imayoshi made a pleased sound and lift his hand to cup the back of Yukio's head. It felt—nice—and a little strange, but then, Imayoshi was good at doing confusing things. Yukio concentrated on kissing him, even when the stroke of Imayoshi's thumb over his nape turned distracting, and smoothed his free hand over Imayoshi's chest.

If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn Imayoshi _purred_ for that. He certainly retaliated right away, upping the stakes by laying his palm on Yukio's thigh and squeezing it through his jeans.

Yukio shuddered, even though Imayoshi's hand wasn't even all that close to his crotch. "Fuck," he said again, low.

Imayoshi leaned his head back and smiled at him. "If that's what you want." He moved his hand up and cupped the front of Yukio's jeans.

Yukio's vision whited out temporarily as he jerked against the pressure of Imayoshi's hand, sensation tearing up his spine. He may have even exclaimed Imayoshi's name as the guy massaged him through the layers of denim and his underwear—Yukio didn't know, too stunned by that sledgehammer blow of sensation to really pay attention to anything else. He caught himself against Imayoshi's shoulders, panting for breath, and shuddered at the glorious relief that came when Imayoshi popped the button of his jeans and dragged his zipper down. "_Fuck_," he groaned. "Oh, fuck…"

Imayoshi murmured to him as he reached into Yukio's underwear and got his fingers around his cock; Yukio barely heard him, too caught up in the feeling of Imayoshi's fingers around him for more than that. Imayoshi handled him almost gently, running his fingers over Yukio slowly before fisting him. Yukio hunched over him, closing his eyes and gulping for breath, feeling himself drawing tight as Imayoshi jerked him off slowly, until release caught him all at once and pleasure flashed through him, like an arrow loosed from a bow. Yukio groaned, shaking through it, and slumped against Imayoshi afterwards, pressing his forehead against his shoulder as he panted for breath.

Imayoshi settled his hand against Yukio's back, and his voice murmured against Yukio's ear, low and husky, his drawl rendering the things he was saying nearly indistinct. Nearly.

Yukio opened his eyes; without lifting his head, he said, "What do you mean, you've waited so long to see this?" Let alone the other nonsense Imayoshi was spouting—no, never mind that. Anyway, he'd said something about waiting before, too, come to think of it.

"I mean that I've been waiting a long time for this," Imayoshi said after a beat.

Yukio raised his head then and _looked_ at Imayoshi, who was wearing a faintly crooked smile. "How long?"

"Mm." Imayoshi's smile turned even more crooked. "Do you remember that practice match we played, the one where your coach subbed you in during the fourth quarter and you stole the ball right out from under me?"

Yukio _did_ remember that match; he'd had most of the game to watch Touou's point guard run rings around Kaijou's team and to begin to see the patterns and strategy that lay behind his plays. "That was _three years ago_." Of course he remembered that game; it was the first time he'd run up against Imayoshi Shouichi on the basketball court, and the guy had been a pain in his ass ever since.

Imayoshi smiled at him. "The time does fly, doesn't it?"

He couldn't possibly be serious, it had to be one of his jokes, but his eyes were perfectly sincere. Yukio sat back, balancing on his heels and Imayoshi's thighs. "But _why_?" he demanded.

Imayoshi lifted his eyebrows. "I told you, didn't I? I've never met a better match than you."

Yukio stared at him, mind buzzing as he sorted through three years of dealing with the world's most annoying point guard and rearranged those encounters according to this crucial new information. The new picture they formed shook him. "You crazy bastard."

Imayoshi continued to smile at him, because he always had been good at understanding what Yukio really meant. "Maybe," he agreed. "But here we are."

"Here we are," Yukio said, slowly, wanting to shake his head. "You idiot. Couldn't you have just pulled my pigtails and been done with it?"

Imayoshi pursed his lips. "I sort of figured that was what I was doing, actually."

It was a good point, Yukio had to admit. He ran his hand over his face. "_Idiot_," he sighed, though he might have been saying it to himself as much as to Imayoshi. This revelation raised any number of new questions, but he put them aside for the time being. Process one earth-shaking new thing at a time, that was the ticket. He dropped his hand from his face and looked at Imayoshi, who was waiting, politely patient. Had been waiting for some time, in fact. "I still don't _like_ you," he announced. "Just so we're clear on that."

Imayoshi grinned at him. "Of course not," he said. "I wouldn't _dream_ of such a thing, not me."

So that was all right. Yukio leaned forward and kissed him before things could get any more sentimental than that, sliding his tongue past Imayoshi's lips just to make sure he'd be staying quiet. Imayoshi huffed a laugh into his mouth, but slid his hand into Yukio's hair again readily enough, sucking on his tongue and watching Yukio from behind his eyelashes, at least until Yukio reached down and palmed him through his slacks. Then his eyes fluttered all the way shut and he groaned against Yukio's mouth, deep in his throat, as Yukio kneaded the hard line of his cock. He leaned his head back again, showing off the line of his throat, and lifted his hips against Yukio's hand. "Gonna come in my pants if you keep that up," he murmured.

"Tempting," Yukio told him, his own voice rougher as he watched Imayoshi. "Maybe some other time." It wasn't difficult to unfasten Imayoshi's slacks or shove them down his hips, especially with Imayoshi raising himself up in assistance, and that little trouble was entirely worth it for the sound Imayoshi made when Yukio wrapped his hand around his cock, testing the weight and shape of it. He groaned, softer and more open than Yukio would have believed he could be.

Yukio shivered, watching him, and a thought came to him, all unbidden: if Imayoshi had been waiting as long as he'd said, then it was entirely possible that Yukio himself was the only person who'd ever seen him let his guard down like this. He swallowed hard and stroked his hand over Imayoshi, defaulting to the same firm, slow grip he used on his own cock, and watched the pleasure sweep Imayoshi's expression open and blank as Imayoshi rocked up into his touch. It didn't last long—how could it, considering?—and Imayoshi arched as he came undone, sighing deep and slow as the shudders of his pleasure rocked him, before sprawling against the bed, going lax as a lazy housecat.

He was still smiling, eyes closed, small and content and, Yukio thought, genuine. It was such a small thing, but when he set it against everything else…

Yukio shivered and kicked his jeans off before slowly settling himself against Imayoshi, chest to chest. Imayoshi opened his eyes and his smile stretched a little wider. "Not a bad start, is it?" he asked, warmth rounding his tone and turning it velvet-soft.

He found himself smiling back. "No, not a bad start at all," Yukio agreed before he leaned down to kiss Imayoshi again.

**end**

I had _thought_ that this one was finished, but as it turns out, I was mistaken and Kasamatsu had some things to say. Go figure!

As always, comments are a delight!


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